


Proper Etiquette

by tepidblood



Series: 369 Apartment AU [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, D/s themes, Explicit Aftercare, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Prenegotiated Kink, Subdrop Implication, this whole fic was supposed to be aftercare and yet. AND YET
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tepidblood/pseuds/tepidblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They need a system– like neck ties on doorknobs. Or big signs on the door saying ‘Scene in Progress. Do not Disturb’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 369 Apartment AU and originally posted [on tumblr](http://tepidblood.tumblr.com/post/123050703088). Prompted by one of my 369 shipping enablers.

Proper etiquette would require he knock, but then again, he’s sucking dicks with both of the men who live here; proper etiquette probably gave up on them a long time ago.

The jingling of keys is usually more than enough to summon Zabimaru to the door, barking and whining, demanding to know exactly who dared to stand outside of  _his_  door. He would talk to the dog, get barked at a few more times, and have his knees licked off once he got in. He’s struggling with the keys at the moment though, without being berated by a needy fluff monster, and he’s thankful for small mercies. The load of groceries leaving angry lines on his arms not being one of those mercies.

Once he manages to make the key go into the lock like it  _should_  he is still rather surprised at the lack of dog pouncing on him. Not that he wasn’t grateful for that, of course; seeing as he has to dump all the groceries on the kitchen table before he can do much else, like close the door behind him. Keys rattle as he hangs them on their hook, going silent as rustling bags fills the static air, filling the ambiance with a tone of weary domesticity. Or maybe that was Capitalism; he wasn’t sure.

The fridge is packed with too much take out, something he will have to probably  _take out_ before Renji decides week old ramen is still edible. He shudders to think about the potential food poisoning. He shoves stuff, organizes other stuff, and uses brute strength to put all the groceries up, which tells how tired he is; he could usually trick the pantry to close on its own. The living room is vacant, holding only the charging tablet and phones that could never quite fit in the same charging station all at the same time; he adds his own to the overstuffed mix.

” **Renji! Izuru!** ” He expects at least some reply, which he gets, but not from the two men he calls. A whine and a scratching paw drags his attention over the crate that takes up an eighth of the living room ( _the snake tank takes up another eighth_ ). Zabimaru has his face pressed up against the bars, looking appropriately whipped, abused, and starved; meaning, of course, he was absolutely fine. “ **Hey boy.** ” He wiggles fingers through the bars, smiles as they are licked, and  _possibly_  croons to the dog. Not that anyone could prove that, since he was evidently alone, and Zabi was easily bribed. He slips the over grown pup a small treat ( _crumbly milk bones for half price, fuck yeah_ ) before leaving him alone, passing the anti-social snake without a second glance.

With groceries put up and seemingly no one home the next logical step for him to take is to get out of his work clothes, take a shower, and take his eye out. Wait, that wasn’t the right order; he’d need to take his eye out  **before**  the shower, because otherwise soap gets in when he is rinsing his hair. He should have knocked, but the fact still remains he doesn’t, and with him being wrapped up in his own thoughts he fails to even notice how tightly shut the bedroom door was, or the fact that there was whimpering behind  _it_ , not from Zabi’s crate.

Opening the door thrusts the living room’s light into the darker bedroom, the soft mood light lamp being the only light turned on, and the last rays of the setting sun blocked out with the curtains. The light was soft, but now it was harsh, especially considering it was illuminating a fairly large amount of bare skin. Tattoos run down from broad shoulders and into the dip of an arched back, sneaking away from his line of sight over the swell of an upturned ass. An ass nearly as red as the hair pooling loose around the man’s head, his beady eyes blown wide in the fog of a scene, and his light cutting into them like a knife.

_Shit._

Heavy breathing is to be expected from someone getting their ass whipped, especially when he manages to understand what was being used to turn the red head’s ass so red. The heavy paddle seems almost too big in Izuru’s hands, his knuckles turning white as he grips at the leather covered wood, and concern tugging at too blue eyes. He seems like a wraith behind Renji, so pale in comparison to the red head’s flush, but he can tell that he’s flushed too. It was up his neck, into his lips, and down his throat and chest. He can’t see much else, considering how Izuru was behind Renji on the bed, and probably had been grinding up against that red ass a little while ago. He catches a glint of lube, maybe precum, and narrows his eye. That seems to do it; Renji’s breathing goes shallow.

He takes open mouthed gasps that don’t fill the lungs, but exhaust the chest. He was maybe, if he had to guess, two small steps away from hyperventilating. The fear of— rejection ( _?_ ) Seems to crawl across his face. His high was falling, probably long before its intended crest, and it was _his_  fault. This, of course, meant it was his responsibility to fix this; unless Izuru would stop staring at him like he was. Which,  _surprisingly_  enough, he wasn’t.  **Fuck.**.

He notices that Renji’s eyes have gone beady again, too quickly, and he steps past the threshold of the door so he can close it. The sudden change of light makes the room seem much darker than it is, his entire form wrapped up in it, and that’s all it takes for him too. He takes a breath in, a breath out, and leaves Shuuhei at the door. The man who walks forward isn’t the journalist, or the mechanic, or the avid animal rescuer; he’s the man Renji needs to keep from crashing in that moment.

” **What’s this?** ” His voice is sharp, sharper than it had been maybe three whole minutes ago when he was talking to the dog, and deeper. He lets his pitch drop with his volume, keeping his voice low, like a distant crack of thunder. He hears Izuru catch his breath, but mostly tunes him out, his focus turned on Renji. It was hard to maintain eye contact with him, with how his face was mostly pushed into the bed sheets, and when he gets closer he understands why. He can look back and see a rope wrapped around Renji’s balls; his hand reaches under to tug on the cord connecting his wrists to the rope pulled tight around his scrotum. His hand wanders, light and unassuming, up and then down the tension in the red head’s back. His fingers dip effortlessly down the cleft of his ass, over a lubed, but clenching, asshole, and down to the rope. He pulls on it, watches as more than just Renji’s balls lift, and he  _frowns_. “ **You were a bad boy, weren’t you?** ”

” **Yes sir.** ” The reply is tentative, unsure, and borderline husky. It was understandable, out of scene, but the scene wasn’t broken just yet. He reaches out, both forward and back, and takes a hold of Renji like he would an obstinate dog. Fingers tighten heavily over a bared neck, forcing his head down deeper into the sheets, and the other grabs one red ass cheek. He squeezes both, pushes, and gives the ass a firm  _slap_. Renji whines, deep into sheets, and shudders. It’s a good shudder.

Renji’s breathing starts to even out, but not enough, so he turns to Izuru. He’s still unsure, obviously having broken out of his role as much as Renji had, and he lets go of Renji’s ass. He lets go just so he can wrap his free hand around the blond’s neck. Firm pressure, squeezing at the sides, and making a sharp chin lift at him; he won’t deny liking the way Izuru’s pupils dilate in response. “ **How many more strikes do you have left, _bad boy_?** ” The question is directed at Renji; obviously so through the lacking use of his name. That was the rule: if you were the one  **“** in trouble **”**  you didn’t get a name. It made the scenes safer, made the line more clear, and when he doesn’t receive a prompt answer from the  _bad boy_? He tightens his hold on the red head’s bared neck, releases Izuru, and gets  **personal**.

“ **I asked you a question bad boy. Are you going to add to your count?** ” He is close enough to hear Renji’s soft wheezing, a side effect of having most of his face pushed into the sheets. The same sheets he has a mouthful of which, of course, prompts him to let the red head’s neck go. That way he can reach up, grab a fistful of bright red hair, and  _yank_  his head back. The resulting arch of a tanned throat and  **whine**  does wonders for him as well, but still not as much as the rebellious way teeth hold onto the sheets and the glare of beady eyes roar in defiance. He always loved stubborn bottoms.

His grip tightens, in increments of course, but large ones. He’s got a good chunk of Renji’s torso off the bed now, which pulls on his arms, which in turn pulls on his ball. Stress etches itself into the curve of his back, trembling subtly in his thighs, and the frown that works its way onto the red head’s face is priceless. “ ** _Go on_ , try it.**” Narrowing his eyes really only appropriately narrows his left eye, seeing as his right eyelid was damn near sent to hell and back, and doesn’t quite line up perfectly with his left, in its movements, anymore. Still, that was half the effect, well; he supposed anyway. Renji and Izuru would always catch their breath when he did it, but that usually also was when he was choking them, so that might have had something to do with it. Either way, he can see that flicker of doubt in his bad boy’s eyes, right in the way his pupils flare and his panting turns harder– and  _not_  from stress.

“ **I’ve got all night.** ” He leans closer, even while he forces Renji to meet him half way, and hauls the red head ever closer. More strain, more tension, and a strong jaw finally relaxes enough to release the sheets held between teeth. There’s a wet spot there now, probably a wet spot between his legs too, and if he dared to glance back? He would bet his eye that there would be a wet spot between Izuru’s thighs as well.

“ **Six, _sir_.** ” He spits the  _sir_  like a curse, which only fuels the situation, and he retaliates in turn by shoving the bad boy face first back into the bed. He holds him there for a count, fifteen Mississippi’s trailing through his head, before he relents; just enough. The color of his face  _and_  his ass now match his hair; prefect. He liked it when things matched like that.

“ **Izuru.** ” He snaps, his fist full of hair being used as a hand hold to push the bad boy’s face back against the bed, cheek first this time. Izuru doesn’t startle like he thought he might, but his eyes are a bit more dreamy than they had been before, and the shift in rolls seems to have effected him the least.

“ **Sir?** ” Polite and quiet; he wondered were that attitude went when they were out of bed.

“ **Finish the strikes– add one more for bad boy thinking it was funny to be _smart_.** ” He doesn’t want to drag the scene out, though he’s pretty sure he could at this point, considering how his lovers were reacting. He doesn’t want to though, not after how he barged in. Renji was reacting well, his teeth bared in a silent show of resistance, but he worried. He gathered up long red hair again, pulled it into a tight, fake ponytail in his hand, and gestured for Izuru to continue. “ **Count for us bad boy; you gotta earn it.** ” He always did, no matter how it went; Renji was a great one to push.

“ ** _Twenty six._** ” He’s tense, anticipating the strike, and it makes it worse. “ **Twenty seven.** ” He’s relaxed a little, choking on his own breath, and shuddering. “ **Twenty eight.** ” He shudders again, because he’s being pulled up by the hair again, and that’s  _perfect_. “ **Twenty nine.** ” He looks fucking thrashed, his mouth hanging open and his face screwed up. He stutters here, unable to breath enough to even form a pained whine, and Izuru waits; even without his command. He nods, against the hold on his hair, and Izuru goes again. “ ** _Thirty!_** ” There’s relief in his voice, though really, there's no reason for him to be relieved. His ass was red, hinting at faint bruises– the kind that you would wince when you sat on, but not cringe for– and his balls weren’t much better. He signals Izuru stop, so he can reach under the bad boy, and touch his cock. He’s hard; proudly flaunting his masochism as precum dribbles from the tip and straight into Shuuhei’s palm. He takes it and rubs it on his red ass, watches as his bad boy flinches and moans, and Izuru bite his lip; that was nice.

“ **Make the last one really hard. I want bad boy to feel it tomorrow– feel it when he thinks about getting smart again.** ” The teeth are back, bared at him, and he bares his teeth in return– in a grin. “ **Go on Izuru.** ” He’s all over his bad boy, his shoulder pressing against his back and side, he left hand still wrapped up in Renji’s hair, holding him down on the bed, and his right hand skimming down beneath. Tattooed abs flex and twitch under his tough, echoing of ticklishness that doesn’t quiet fit into the scene, but it still triggered regardless. He can hear Izuru’s wrist pop as he readies himself for the last strike, his big blue eyes, stormy with arousal, were narrowed in concentration. It was a nice look on him– just like the lack of clothes and the paddle in his hand. He almost wishes Renji could see him, but he’s sure Renji will be fine; he gets the full force of the impact regardless.

The  _slap_  of a paddle makes his gut clench, his body going tense in response, because, sure enough, his bad boy was flailing. The red head was rocking forward, trying to escape the pressure, but couldn’t move because of the hand in his hair. His next response was to jerk his hands, but they were tied to his balls, and that would give him no relief either. Really, all he did was trap Shuuhei’s hand against his stomach a moment, from the rope, before he frees himself and lunges for the red head’s cock. Izuru already knew what he had intended to do, the paddle falling to the bed sheets, and his body moving forward. Red asscheeks are pulled apart, just so he can line his sock up between them, and squeeze them tight against him. The frotting would be good for Izuru, painful for Renji, and perfect for Shuuhei to watch. He digs his thumb right into the glans of Renji’s cock, twists his palm against the head a few times, and lets his bad boy flail. Too much stimulation in too many places, but it still wasn’t enough, and the noises coming out of the red head’s throat weren’t all tinged in pleased anticipation. He leans down, closer still, and takes Renji’s ear between his teeth. “ **Cum for us, _bad boy_.** ”

He loves it how that’s all it takes to Renji over.

* * *

Renji is limp, totally limp, by the time his orgasm was over. Izuru wasn’t far behind, pumping his hips a few more times, before spilling all over Renji’s red ass. He leans forward, buries his flushed face right into Shuuhei’s offered palm, and licks up Renji’s spend. He sucks on Shuuhei’s fingers, even as he smears his cum on his own, and massages it into Renji’s sore ass. The whine that is muffled into the bed sheets is a good one, low and long, but relaxed; he had finally gotten rid of that tension.

“ **Good boy.** ” Praise is easily falling off his lips now, now that the punishment was over, and the scene was wrapping up. They had been meant for Renji, specifically, but he watches the blush darken just a bit more in Izuru’s cheeks; he kisses him for it. “ **C’mon.** ” He’s talking to both of them now, to Izuru to get off of Renji’s ass, and Renji to roll onto his side. Urgency twines into some of their movements now, mostly his and Izuru’s, so they could release Renji as quickly as possible. There’s an angry line around the red head’s balls and cock, from the rope, and similar lines on his wrists. His ass was a mess and the bed sheets were covered in cum. A good, messy, scene.

The only problem he could ever think of Renji, specifically in bed, was his size. Not pertaining to his cock, of course, but do his sheer bulk. Lifting him up so Izuru could strip the play sheet off the bed wasn’t easy, especially since he was a maelable as a rag doll in that moment, but they manage. He’s rolled onto his chest, his ass left to relax under the touch of a cool wash cloth, and a water bottle is slipped into his hands. He’s prepped to be left alone for just a minute, long enough that Shuuhei can help Izuru clean up the mess, and then clean up Izuru too. Izuru slinks into bed, fully sated, and attaches himself to Renji. Pale fingers card through red locks with a gentleness that utterly contradicts the way he had paddled him before, but it was good. He’s looking forward to the blond doing that to him someday.

“ **Hey– you with us?** ” He’s stripping, so he can get into bed, and Renji opens his eyes to probably just see the wet spot on the front of his boxers.

“ **Mm _yeah_.** ” The stretched out sounds of contentment are comforting for Shuuhei to hear, especially with the easy way Renji reaches up and wipes at his eye, like he had just taken a really long nap instead of a fresh beating. That same hand reaches for his cock, which he easily avoids, all so he can go to the bathroom. He wipes himself up, ditches the wet boxers, and hopes that the splash of cold water will be enough for now. Another cool wash cloth makes its way back into the bedroom, just so he can wipe at Renji’s face. The tracks of dried tears are wiped at slowly, gently, and it’s one of the few times he can fuss over the red head without complaint.

“ **Good to hear– Izuru?** ” The blond looks half asleep, tucked up against Renji’s side, but he reacts instantly to his name. His eyes were clear again, focused and sharp, and the hint of a smile playing across thin lips is a comfort. He doesn’t verbally respond, but he nods, and that’s good enough. He props up onto his hands and knees, leans over Renji, and gets a kiss for his efforts. That was a good way to end a session, for sure.

They cuddle for a while, with him getting up and down, fetching cool wash clothes and another bottle of water for Renji. He and Izuru kiss, slow and without rush, and he doesn’t intervene. He had stepped on toes earlier as it was, and he was still learning– still learning his lover’s patterns. Not every scene ended like this, he knew; he watched a lot of them. Most of the time all it would take for them to bounce back was a good, hard kiss, and a shower. Renji doesn’t seem up for a shower right now, so he just continues to wipe him down, eventually rubbing arnica cream on the blooming bruises on his ass. It’s probably why he’s a bit surprised when strong fingers catch at him, his hip and his arm, and pull him down. He doesn’t argue with the kisses though.

“ **I’m sorry about that.** ” His voice is soft, about as soft as the dim lighting in the room, and he wonders if Izuru can hear him. Renji’s gaze goes from low and nearly closed to narrowed and sharp, judging Shuuhei, even as he silently demands an explanation. “ **For intruding– breaking scene. I didn’t mean to throw you for a loop like that.** ” It looks like Renji was fine; he just rolled his eyes.

“ **S’fine.** ” He’s as eloquent as always, his broad, calloused fingers reaching up to gently frame Shuuhei’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze, or push, but just leaves it there. It’s a trusting gesture, on both ends, and he doesn’t tense up under it. When Renji tries to move himself on top of him, his knee going to bump and grind up against his mostly flaccid member, he stops him though.

“ **No.** ” He’s firm, but soft, and the thunder from before is gone; the storm has moved on. He pushes the red head back, aided only in the fact that he wasn’t resisting, and pushes himself closer to him. “ **We’re focusing on you tonight.** ” He mirrors Renji’s earlier gesture, tracing his fingers around the red head’s neck, and testing his acceptance. “ **Right Izuru?** ” He gets his reply by spindly digits curling up around Renji’s throat as well, threading into his own, and a shift of his body pushing Renji even closer to him.

“ **Of course.** ”

* * *

He wakes up to two mouths on his cock and a delayed conversation about neck ties on door knobs.


End file.
